Lucid Dreamer
by Sonorous Scripter
Summary: Bart Allen's awoken from a nightmare and into a dream, but dreams can slip back to what we fear just as easily. Bluepulse.
1. False Awakening

Bart Allen stretched one arm out and then the other, wading deeper into the chest-high ocean of ash. The wind whistled, high and piercing, like the torturous screams he'd grown so accustomed to hearing. But he couldn't focus on that now. Couldn't focus on how tight his chest was and how the unbidden tears rolling down his face stung almost as much as the ashes did. He couldn't focus on how the bitter taste of bile was rising in his throat, how he wanted to retch despite his stomach being devoid of any food to throw up.

No, he couldn't focus on any of that now. He had to keep moving, continue his relentless search. But the last of Bart's resolve began to ebb away as he heard it. With ever heavy footfall, the solid _crunch_ from beneath his feet was audible. He told himself it was the crunch of gravel, but he knew better; a child cloaked in ignorance wouldn't have made it this far. How many bones were littered across the plateau, obscured by layers of dust and grime and cinders?

"Come on Allen," he whispered through his teeth, shouldering the bag of mixed mechanical parts and gears that was slung across his shoulders. "You're so close."

And he was indeed nearing his destination, for, in another moment, an incoherent rush of insect-like clicking reached his ears. The sound grated on his nerves, but he felt stress-knots on the back of his neck loosen. At least he'd made it.

Bart fought against the surge of dust, and, without another thought, ran into the Reach base. His heart pounded away in his throat as he ran, and even though his eyes were as leaden as his limbs, he didn't blink, not even for a second. A set of skulls were affixed to the walls, and as Bart stared into the empty sockets of one, he couldn't help wondering _'Did I know you?' _Bart hastily pushed the thought aside. His loved ones were long since dead, so why would it even matter?

Bart continued to run for a few more minutes, wishing that he could go at super speed. But not with the inhibitor collar digging into his clavicle. His cheeks were flushed and his side aching by the time he spied the glint of metal. The last part required for the time machine he and Nathaniel had been working for the better part of the last three years.

He splayed his fingers over the cool, metallic surface, barely daring to breathe. This scrap of metal was the key to his salvation. If all went accordingly, he'd be able to crash the mode and change _everything_.

Bart bolted out of the Reach base, stopping only to slink behind a chunk of debris when a Reach patrol team loped along the corridor. He counted the seconds in his head before abandoning his hiding spot.

"What are you doing _meat_?"

Bart felt his heart plummet, and with it went all his hopes and dreams. His tongue scraped against the roof of his sand-paper mouth as he tried to form coherent words. "I'm... um," he had to say something. And he had to answer soon or he'd be on the receiving end of a blue plasma cannon. "I'm delivering this," he gestured to the metal device, "Negotiator's orders."

He gazed unflinchingly into Blue Beetle's cold amber eyes as the man—if there was any man beneath the armor—regarded him menacingly. _Don'tblinkdon'tblink. _

The Reach warrior merely sneered, and grabbed a fistful of Bart's shirt, lifting him a good few feet off the ground. The Beetle's breath was warm against his face, as he asked in an empty monotonous voice. "Where are you taking it?"

Bart swallowed. No one in their right mind would dare come anywhere near the Reach base, so if he managed to fabricate any sort of life, his chance at evading the Beetle's clutches was almost guaranteed. "I'm delivering it... to the other encampment."

Blue Beetle considered this quietly, and Bart felt a swell of pride at his falsehood. He was an a-class liar.

Finally, Blue released his grip and flung Bart forcefully aside. A shock of pain rippled through him as he hit the ground and his vision was soon ringed with red. A popping noise alerted him to his now injured arm, and he quickly brushed at the gravel embedded in his forearm.

"On your feet, slave."

Bart looked into those eyes with pure, unrestrained hatred, but they suddenly shifted from orange to brown. A deep shade of brown, like dark chocolate.

* * *

Bart was roused from his cold-sweat when the sleeping body beside him shifted. He blinked sleep from his eyes and sat up, battling his hazy confusion.

Several loose sheets of paper were sprawled across the bed, resting beside a Chemistry book. And then he remembered. He'd been waiting for Jaime to finish his homework so that they could hang out, when the older teen had dozed off... It hadn't been the first time this had happened.

Jaime looked so peaceful and at ease when he slept, as if only then could he let go of the stress of fighting his inner demon. Bart also knew that Jaime was a deep sleeper. So, being the thoughtful friend that he is, Bart had curled up against him rather than try to rouse him.

Despite the frown dominating his young features, Bart felt a genuine smile tugging at his lips as he watched his friend's chest rise and fall. Bart's nightmares had been particularly vivid lately, to the point where he felt as if he was reliving his memories, rather than dreaming about them. Quietly as he could manage, he leaned against Jaime's chest once more, and was admittedly pleased to hear Jaime give a contented sigh. They stayed there, Bart cocooned against his best friend's strong, lean body, for another good ten minutes, before he rolled out of bed.

Loud and raucous thoughts were buzzing in Bart's mind. And he couldn't shut it off tonight.

So he paced in circles (at least his body was occupied), before coming to a halt in front of Jaime's bedroom mirror. Light from the mirror reflected silvery on either side of the speedster's face. He watched the stranger in the mirror with mounting interest. To the Team he must look so young. So innocent. But there was a wisdom in the shadows of his eyes. A wisdom only detectable if he was caught off guard. Otherwise, Bart could easily feign innocence.

He ran a small hand along his face. Even with his natural increased healing abilities, there was still the ghost of a scar accentuating his cheek. As if in a trance, Bart peeled his sweat drenched t-shirt off of his chest, and gazed at his willowy runner's body in the mirror. He caressed the skin above his rib cage, remembering each of his past scars. Because no one gets through life unscathed.

Eventually, he grew tired of his reflection, and plodded across the wooden floorboards to stop by the window. The blinds were already pulled back. Sighing, Bart gazed out at the night sky, where the stars winked back at him. He was so, _so_ thankful that it was not the same smutted sky raining bitter sediment that he was familiarized with. But his sense of peace was short-lived, as a voice pulled him back to reality.

"_Hermano_?" Jaime asked, his speech garbled from drowsiness. "You okay?"

Bart didn't answer right away, leaving Jaime to watch the moonlight comb through his friend's auburn hair. "I, uh, most have dozed off," Jaime's light laugh cuts into the silence.

"S'okay. I did too."

Jaime's relief at hearing his friend's steady reply is palpable as he laughs again, before rising to his feet to stand beside Bart. "Something wrong _ese_?"

"Hmm?" Bart turned with raised eyebrows to stare into Jaime's molten chocolate eyes. "Oh, uh, everything's crash her-man-oh."

"Did you have a bad dream again?"

Bart swallows painfully, because as much as he hates seeing Jaime upset on his behalf, he hates lying to him even more.

"Was I—" Jaime pauses, as if reluctant to hear the answer. "Was I in it?"

"Yes," Bart responds automatically. Jaime's face falls at his words, and Bart wants to add that Jaime's in _all_ of his dreams, especially the good ones, but doing so would just make things worse. It's hard loving Jaime the way he does, especially when Jaime doesn't return his feelings. Bart isn't sure when his mission to save the human race turned into 'save Jaime'; he was certainly never supposed to fall for the man destined to be enslaved by the Reach. But while that Blue Beetle is Jaime's future, he was Bart's past.

"_Dios mio,_ I'm sorry Bart."

"It's not your fault." But Bart suddenly realizes that Jaime isn't referring to the dream; his mocha-colored hands are hovering over Bart's chest where a nasty laceration is still visible. Bart is also suddenly aware that his shirt is on the floor several feet from where he's positioned.

"Did I do this?"

Bart averts his gaze, but the tears pooling in his emerald eyes are answer enough. Goosebumps lift along Bart's bare chest as Jaime wraps his arms around Bart in an attempt to console him. But it just makes him feel worse. Because Jaime is another thing that Bart wants but can't have. Why can't he ever have what he wants?

A tear slips traitorously from his eye, and Bart feels as if his cheek is being eaten by a corrosive build-up of emotion.

Jaime presses his lips to his temple, in an affectionate, but brotherly, way. "It's okay _Cariño_."

The beat of Jaime's pounding heart is a slow staccato against the flutter of his own, but as Jaime's words process, Bart feels his heart stop altogether. "W-what did you say?" He wriggles out of Jaime's arms to scrutinize his friend's expression.

Jaime blinks down at the shorter boy in confusion. He repeats his sentence, being sure to draw each word out slowly. "It's okay _Cari— _agh, I meant_ hermano!"_

"But that's not what you said," Bart interjects with a coy grin. He steps closer to Jaime, so close that their breaths mingle, and he can practically hear Blue Beetle's scarab screaming out warnings of potential danger. "You said 'c_a-reen-yo_'. I'm not sure what that means but it sounded a lot like_—_"_  
_

"Bart_—_j-just stop. Okay?"

But the thirteen year old continued on as if he hadn't even heard. "Sorry Jaime, but I've caught you this time." He waggled a finger.

Jaime inhaled sharply, vexed by Bart's persistence. "Just let it go Bart," he warned through gritted teeth.

"It almost sounded to me like you like _mmf—_"

Unlike Bart, Jaime Reyes was _not_ impulsive or brash. But maybe this one time he acted without really thinking. Because what Bart was saying was going to mess up their entire friendship, and just make things weird. First of all, there was a three year age difference, if you didn't count the fact that Bart was also born in a different era. Second, Jaime had had at least two crushes just this past month, and he'd never expressed even the slightest interest in another guy before. So why he'd figured the best way to shut Bart up was to... kiss him... honestly didn't make any sense.

But what did make sense, was how Bart's arms instinctively encircled Jaime's neck to entwine themselves in his hair, and how their bodies fit perfectly against each other as their lips pressed. Jaime's hands closed around Bart's waist, the tips of his fingers resting at the small of his back. It started out as a soft chaste kiss, that slowly started to deepen.

Bart could hear the crescendo of crickets outside Jaime's window, the roar of a car starting in a distant El Paso street. He could feel the smooth tile beneath his bare feet, and the soft, ebony locks that were trapped in his hands. But his mind soon blanked out in pleasure, and he couldn't hear anything. Or feel anything. Except for Jaime's presence.

It was both intoxicating and exhilarating to let the mind cease and the heart take over. Because for the first time, Bart didn't have to fight his memories and dreams, and the dark and damaged part of him that was always struggling to surface. He didn't feel tangled in a web of secrets and pain. Jaime's touch was warm and safe. And with every kiss he felt a part of his life being pieced back together.

Bart Allen had woken from a nightmare and into a dream.

**A/N:** **I hope this fic turned out okay, and thanks in advance for any reviews and such! I look forward to reading any feedback ^_^ **


	2. Escapism

Bart extricated himself from the linen sheets that had tangled around his body as he slept, making it difficult to breathe. He reached a tentative hand across the mattress, searching for warmth, but finding the other half of the bed vacant. His lips were tingling, the memory of the kiss still lingering, but he felt hollow. Hollow, and painfully alone.

The days subsequent to when he and Jaime had addressed their feelings were surreal and dreamlike, and Bart had moved through them in a happy stupor. Being ensconced in Jaime's steady arms with their lips molded together was more than he'd ever dared to hope for. The kiss they'd shared had started out firm, but soft, and had soon grown heated and desperate and maybe a little fearful.

Being with Jaime was like free-falling from a building: pure adrenaline, heightened senses, a rush of ecstasy, but at the same time he was scared of losing himself. Their passionate make-out had eventually mellowed to gentle caressing of lips, until Jaime deposited the younger boy on his bed and they'd held close. It was the first sleep Bart had had where he wasn't plagued by nightmares.

It had been the first night where he'd had something worth dreaming about. Something stronger than the nightmares and scars of his past life.

But when he'd stopped by the familiar El Paso neighborhood a little while later, Jaime had brushed him off with the alibi that something else had come up.

Bart understood it must have been hard for Jaime. In this era their type of relationship wasn't always accepted. Or maybe Jaime was going through something else entirely. Family issues, identity crisis, coming to terms with his powers...

Bart didn't know. But he tried to understand. And for the first few days he'd been successfully able to stay away. Maybe it was selfishness that made him knock on Jaime's door for the second time that week. But the nightmares were getting worse again and he really needed Jaime back. Even if Jaime wasn't ready to be his lover, Bart needed him to at least be his friend.

"Jaime," Bart's voice barely carried as he rapped on the door. "Her-man-oh come on. I'm really feeling the mode." He was met with silence.

So Bart retreated back to the Garrick's house in Central City to face his nightmares alone. Except he didn't fall asleep again. Every time his eyes started to drift shut, he'd catch a flicker of movement from the shadows in his room; the darkened corners that were twisted and warped into haunting faces by Bart's imagination.

Bart could feel sweat dripping down his neck as if spiders were scuttling across it. _Breathe, _he told himself as he lay on his bed curled up in a fetal position. He wasn't sure exactly which memory was bothering him at the moment, just that he felt hopeless. Hopeless, empty, and little more than a corpse.

The hours passed slowly, and he heard each tick of his watch. Time moving at barely more than a standstill.

And then he heard it. A loud _whooshing _that sounded from outside his window. Bart was on his feet in exactly two milliseconds, and had the window open a moment later.

"Well it's nice to see you again, Blue. Iwasbeginningtothinkyouwereavoidingme."

Jaime's blue and black armor retracted as he stepped into Bart's room.

"What?" Bart deadpanned, "nothing to say to me?"

Jaime's face whipped to the side and he muttered something, more to himself than to Bart. The younger teen studied his friend's sensuous lips as he mouthed to the scarab. When Jaime finally turned back to Bart, he didn't meet his eyes.

Instead, he raised a hand to thumb Bart's bottom lip. Bart felt his breath hitch in his throat, but there was no way he was going to just kiss Jaime, not after how he'd deliberately avoided him.

He started to pull away, but Jaime's other hand clamped around Bart's jaw, forcing the other boy's lips to his own. At first Bart struggled against Jaime's grip, but as the Hispanic teen's mouth and tongue brushed his jawline, Bart realized he didn't have the resolve.

Jaime's hands cupped either side of Bart's face as he leaned in for another kiss. This was not the same kiss they'd earlier shared. This kiss was forceful, and Jaime was in full control. Bart made the mistake of sighing into Jaime's mouth, which made Jaime kiss him harder, harder.

The air was charged with electricity. Bart felt dizzy. And light, like he was floating on air. But mostly dizzy.

Finally Jaime pulled away long enough for them to catch their breath, and Bart's hands rested on his shoulders to steady himself from his lightheadedness.

"Jaime," he panted, "we shouldn—"

Jaime's lips began to travel down Bart's neck, trailing love bites as he sucked at his flesh.

Bart fought to keep his features indifferent, but a moan tumbled from his lips before he could suppress it. Jaime's hand curled around Bart's tee, but as she began to raise the fabric, the speedster slipped out of his grasp.

"Jaime st-" Bart paused because he was having trouble forming coherent thoughts. Did he really want Jaime to stop?

Jaime took his moment of hesitation to his advantage, but Bart darted lithely out of his grasp once more.

"Do you want me Bart?" There was something dangerous in Jaime's tone.

"I, yes, I uh... but—" his voice faltered as Jaime's now armored hand elongated. Jaime raised the bladed edge of his arm and tore through the fabric of Bart's shirt. He pinned Bart to the wall and ran his lips down the length of Bart's chest, following the path that his hands made.

Time seemed to have sped up. _Is this what it's like to lose yourself?_ Bart certainly felt lost. Lost to desire and the heat of the moment. But what finally pulled him back was the sting of a tear on his face, though he wasn't entirely sure whose.

He and Jaime pulled away at the same time, the latter trembling violently. Bart stared at his friend in something akin to anger. How could he just use him like that? Now Bart was taking charge. He tilted Jaime's chin upwards, forcing him to meet his gaze.

Jaime's brown eyes were half-lidded and darkened with lust, but there was something else in his look. Something deeper, and more personal. Something pained and forlorn. Maybe Bart recognized the look in Jaime's eyes because he'd seen it in his own reflection many times before, but whatever the reason, it was evident that something was off.

He lowered his arms and wrapped them around Jaime's waist, holding them there until his shaking subsided.

"What the hell is wrong with you Bart?" Jaime demanded finally. Bart stared open-mouthed as Jaime continued, "why did you kiss me back?"

"Wha—what's wrong with _me_?" he asked in incredulity. "You kissed me first! I should be asking you that!" Bart curled his hands into fists, relishing the pain he felt when his nails dug into his skin.

Jaime's voice was softer now. "You shouldn't even be able look at me. You should hate me. After what I've done to you as Blue Beetle... You shouldn't want anything to do with me. You let me kiss you. Why? Why do you just instantly forgive me for hurting you? That's not normal. Answer me!"

Jaime's imploring tone confused Bart on a whole new scale. Did he seriously expect an answer to a question that didn't even make sense?

Bart couldn't find any words that would encapsulate what he felt, so he raised the palms of his hand instead of responding. He raised the red and raw flesh where his nails had pierced through his skin. Even with his accelerated healing, the marks remained. And when they faded, new crescent-shaped cuts would take their place. Because the pain was a distraction. Digging his nails into his palms until they broke the skin. It took his attention away from what really bothered him.

"I have them every night," he choked out in a tremulous voice. "The dreams, I mean. Except they're not dreams. They're memories and every night I have to relive them. I see people dying and people tortured, but they're not even people; they're meat. Expendable, and worthless. And it hurts Jaime," he muffled his sob with his hand. "It feels like... like that broken part of me inside is stabbing me every time I breathe. A-and I don't know why or how you do it but every time you're with me it's like the nightmares just go away. And I hate it. Hate that you have that much power over me. How do you do it Jaime? How do you make the nightmares just go away?"

Jaime bristled at Bart's words, and at first all he added to the conversation was "Lo siento Bart." But after he took Bart's hands in his own he whispered, "I get them too. The nightmares. Except mine aren't past memories like yours. Mine are... I mean, my dreams are about what could still happen. I don't want to lose control of the scarab. I don't want to ever lose you."

Bart stood on his tiptoes to rest his head in the crook of Jaime's neck. "You won't lose me."

"Won't I? I don't really understand time travel Bart, but I can at least grasp the whole paradox thing. If the Reach apocalypse doesn't happen, then there won't be any reason for you to have come to the past because I won't need saving. So then we'll have never met. And that's not a reality I can live with."

Bart swallowed painfully. He may have been able to build a time machine, but he didn't understand the rules and principles of time travel any better.

"You won't lose me yet." Bart's legs were turning to jelly, and Jaime caught him as his strength gave out. "Stay with me?"

"_Siempra_." Jaime scooped Bart into his arms and laid him on the bed. Their arms and limbs tangled as they wrapped in each other's warmth.

As sleep enveloped him, Bart mused silently how easy it was for dreams to slip into nightmares. And vice versa.


End file.
